|D'ya see dat button b'low dis? Yeeuh, click it...|
GoneThe blank page intimidates me now. I sit staring at the vast white nothingness, pencil poised to release beauty upon it, but nothing ever happens. Well, something happens, but it’s nothing more than a crumpled ball reminiscent of the trembling form lying on the floor. Ever since you left, it’s all I ever accomplish.Gone by M3rcuryDr4g0n
Maybe it’s the way the blank page mirrors the space you left in my soul. I’m not mad at you. I perfectly understand that you had to go. You couldn't physically remain with us forever, and that cold January morning just happened to be the day God chose to pick you up from this boarding school we call Earth. He decided you’d learned all you needed to know to be an angel.
I don’t remember it, but she likes to bring up now and again the times you’d sit with me in the morning before you went to work in the field. I've been told you would hold the pencil in my hand and guide it to create sil
Voodoo Wedding ExperienceThe night was still, sticky with humidity. He stood on the front steps of the hotel, listening to the crickets chirping, the rain frogs humming; South Louisiana was alive at night. He reached into his back pocket, feeling for the rings, making sure they were still there; then he rocked back on his heels and waited.Voodoo Wedding Experience by LauraiRose
A moment later, a pair of familiar, strong arms came around his waist; soft lips pressed against his neck. "Hey, sugar," Slash murmured into Axl's ear. "Y'ready?"
Was he ready? Oh, Jesus, what a question. He'd been ready for this night since last Christmas, when Slash had come to him, all shy hesitation, asking if he'd marry him, holding out the two rings he'd bought at the antiques store, one emerald, one onyx. They'd been planning the wedding ever sincebecause gay marriage was illegal, they'd decided to get married on tour, at night, in New Orleans, where there was bound to be someone who wouldn't give a shit about performing a ceremony like this. And they'd f
Recycled DreamsI was halfway down the second floor apartment stairs when I realized I'd left my left arm on the table.
It's no surprise of course, for I've always had a habit of misplacing important things like keys, documents, and identification cards, but to leave one’s arm on the table is truly embarrassing. I would have run back to get it, but the bus driver is always a bit early on Tuesdays and I could already hear the distant hum of the engine making its way to me. And it's not like I really need it for work anyway. So I left it behind.
It's penguins and oranges today; my latest client is a fairly normal one. The last dreamer wanted marsupial martial arts masters in Atlantis. In space. You would think putting dreams to canvas is an easy job, and you'd be right - but truly I wonder about humanity at times. Subconscious wanderings are laid bare to my paintbrush - they get their dreams, and I don't fall apart entirely.
Morpheus is upstairs. I know because I can see the color runn